The Boy Who Became Peter Pan
by Scary-little-elf21
Summary: Set during OotP. After seeing a group of homeless children in the streets of London Hermione notices Harry seems sad. When she asks he tells her the story about The Boy Who Became Peter Pan.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hermione was worried. The Order had been very strict this summer about letting Harry leave Grimmauld Place. After the trial, Harry had hardly left headquarters at all. Mrs. Weasley was trying to keep them busy with the cleaning, with little success. The house only seemed worse after they spent hours cleaning.

She had convinced the Order to let her, Harry and Ron out for a walk around London with supervision this morning. Harry had been quiet and withdrawn ever since. She had expected that the fresh air and activity would cheer him up but it seemed to have the opposite effect. It didn't make any sense.

Hermione shifted her weight on the couch. A cloud of dust and the smell of moth-eaten cloth wafted up to her. She kept her eyes on the book in her lap (The Standard Book of Spells, Volume 5), but her thoughts were focused on their trip from the morning.

They had gone out around 10 am, accompanied by Remus and Tonks (disguised as a middle-aged Asian woman in a business suit). They had walked toward a park about 10 blocks from headquarters, passing through a dingy section of London. They hadn't encountered anything other than other pedestrians and a group of homeless children running across the busy street. After spending an hour in the park, which was completely deserted other than a broken swing set, they had returned to headquarters.

She sighed to herself. Okay, so it wasn't the most cheerful trip she had ever been on, but she had felt refreshed just getting out of this dismal house. Hermione could admit to herself that the place was a dump. Her family was fairly well off, with both of her parents being doctors and owning their own dental practice. She had been raised in a large comfortable home, and never truly wanted for anything. She had never lived in a house that was so run-down. The burrow, while not exactly posh, was homey and welcoming and clearly well cared for. This house reeked of decay and neglect. It was depressing just looking at the faded and peeling wallpaper.

She shook her head. She was getting sidetracked. Her main concern was not the depressing décor, but what was truly bothering her moody friend. Harry had always been a bit…off, socially speaking. While he was a very good and loyal friend, he always seemed so awkward around other people. He had very few friends outside of her and Ron and didn't seem to be interested in branching out at all.

This summer, he had been all over the board emotionally. It made sense, he had witnessed the murder of a classmate, had been tortured by his parent's murderer, been isolated from any friendly face with no information of any kind, whilst being maligned in the eyes of the public. She could admit that he had every reason to be frustrated, angry and upset, but it hurt that she couldn't help him. She didn't know how.

However, his mood today seemed different. She knew what his "brooding over Cedric and Voldemort" face looked like. His "anger over being shut out" face was pretty obvious too. This was even different from his "wistful" face that he had whenever he thought about his parents. This face was reflective like he was thinking about a past memory. His face was twisted in a way that showed that they were happy memories, but tinged with sadness. Nostalgia?

She peeked at her friend from the corner of her eye. Harry was sitting in an armchair across the small library. She said sitting, but in reality, he was more sprawling. His left leg was hanging over the edge of the armchair, while his right was propped up at an angle, pressed against the armrest. His right arm was curled over his chest while his head and left arm dangled over the other armrest. He was staring at the ceiling with a look in his eye that indicated that his thoughts were a million miles away. What was he thinking about? Hermione felt the familiar tinge of frustration that had been plaguing her all morning.

"What?" Harry's voice suddenly pierced the silence of the library, startling Hermione so badly that dropped her book onto the carpet.

"What?" Hermione struggled to regain her composure. "You haven't turned a page in your book in over an hour and you keep glancing over at me. What are you thinking so hard about." Harry's reply was matter of fact, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.

"Nothing." Hermione blushed and picked up her book quickly. She hadn't even noticed that she was glancing at him. She was more surprised that he had even noticed. She thought his mind had been elsewhere. Harry finally turned his head to look at her. His face was blank, but his eyes pierced into her. "I doubt that. Spit it out, you know you want to."

Well, this could work. If she wanted to know something, the most direct path would be to simply ask Harry what was bothering him. But then, this was Harry she was talking about. How often did he talk about his feelings? The short answer…Never.

"Hermione, just ask. I won't get mad. If I don't want to answer, I will tell you." He had yet to blink. Did he know how creepy he could seem when he stared at others? She doubted it.

" I noticed that you have been really quiet today. It seemed to start this morning after our walk so I was wondering if something upset you." Hermione pressed the question out quickly before she changed her mind. Harry blinked, surprised. He hadn't been expecting the question. He turned his head away from her and returned his gaze to the ceiling. She sat for several moments, waiting for his reply. He did not move for nearly two minutes. Hermione figured that he did not intend to answer her. She wasn't surprised. Harry did not like to discuss personal topics. There were times when she felt that she barely knew her friend at all. Just as she was about to return to her book, Harry's voice broke the silence.

"The Dursley's never liked me. I never really understood why. It wasn't until I got my Hogwarts letter that I started to get it. They always told me that I was different, a freak, but I didn't know what it meant. When I was really little, I tried to think of ways that I could get them to love me. It's all I really wanted from them. To have them be proud of me, to care for me, even if it was just for a minute. I tried to be quiet, and do all my chores without being asked. I followed every rule and never fought back when Dudley hit me. I kept telling myself that it was worth it. That one day, it would matter.

When I went to Primary school for the first time, I tried so hard. I wanted to be the best in the class. I thought that they would be proud of my grades, that this would be the thing that would change it all. That it would be the thing to make them love me. I would always be a freak, but maybe they would care if I were a smart freak.

On the last day of school, the teacher sent home our reports, and I walked right up to Aunt Petunia and handed her my grades. I knew that they were good. I had done all of my work and I paid attention in class. But when she looked at them, she got mad. I had done better than Dudley. She and Uncle Vernon accused me of cheating and disrupting Dudley's learning in school. I was…punished and sent out to weed the garden. I watched her tear up my report and throw it in the trash." Here Harry paused. His eyes were still locked on the ceiling, but she could read the lines of tension in his face.

She was shocked and appalled! How could they do that to him! He had worked so hard. She felt a surge of anger for Harry's family. She was about to start on a rant when Harry began speaking again. She didn't dare interrupt him. She knew that this had to be hard for him to talk about. If she interrupted him he might clam up and never talk about it again.

"In the garden, I came to a realization. My family did not love me, and they never would. There was nothing that I could do to change that. It hurt. Every day, I was surrounded by families and I could see what love looked like, but I had never had anyone care for me that way. I felt alone and angry and I made a really rash decision. I decided to run away. If my family wasn't going to love me and didn't want me, then I would leave. I didn't plan it all. I was five, I didn't think about the consequences. I just walked out of the garden and down the street. I walked for about 10 minutes before I realized that I was lost. I started to get scared. But I knew that when my Uncle realized that I was gone, he would come looking for me, and that scared me even more.

I kept walking, and that's when I saw the lorry. It was one of those big moving vans, almost completely full of furniture. I hid in the bushes nearby and watched the workers carry boxes and chairs and stack them into the back. One of the workers mentioned that they needed to finish soon so that they could get to London before nightfall. That is when I made the second rash decision of the day. I know that my Uncle was looking for me, and if he found me I would be in a world of trouble, but I doubted that he would look for me in London. So I waited for the workers to go back into the house and I snuck into the back of the lorry. I hid under the couch behind a stack of cardboard boxes. After a few more loads, the workers put the last boxes in and closed the back of the van. I hadn't expected to be so dark, and the ride was far from comfortable. I was pinned to the cold wooden floor of the truck under a musty sofa in total darkness for hours. It felt like an eternity before the lorry stopped and the back opened again. I waited for the workers to begin unloading and I snuck out of the truck into London."

Here Harry stopped again and looked over at Hermione. He grinned at her, and she suddenly realized that she was perched on the edge of the couch staring incredulously at him with her mouth hanging open. She snapped it closed, before suddenly opening it again. "Harry! That was really dangerous. You could have been hurt! Do you have any idea how unsafe that was? You could have been crushed! And you ran away from home to London! What were you thinking? How are you still alive?" She would have continued, had Harry not given a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle.

"Believe me, Hermione, I know. I had no idea what I was doing. I was five, and upset, and not thinking clearly. I didn't understand the consequences at first. After I left the truck, I wandered for hours around London. I was so lost. The sun had gone down and I was hungry, alone and terrified out of my mind. I didn't know what to do. That first night, I ended up crawling behind some bins in an alley to sleep. The next few days went about the same. I wandered around London, hiding in alleyways, stealing food from bins, and even drinking water from a drainpipe. I was realizing how stupid I had been, and even wishing that I was home with the Dursley's, even if it meant that I would be in trouble. I had almost convinced myself to find a police officer when I met Tootles.

Tootles was a homeless kid, just a few years older than me. He found me rooting for food in a bin behind a bakery. He was dirty and tousled, with shoes that didn't match, shorts held up with string and two faded shirts. He was crouched near the mouth of the alley, watching me when I finally noticed him. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at me and then asked: "Are you lost?". I nodded and he grinned at me. He held out his hand and said, "Good, come with me. I'll help." By this time I hadn't eaten anything other than brown lettuce and half moldy bread for days with hardly any water. I needed help, so I took his hand, and it remains to be one of the best decisions of my life.

Tootles was part of a group of homeless kids in London, they called themselves the Lost Boys, like from Peter Pan. There were about 10 of us, and we all had nicknames. The nicknames, I found out, were actually the names of the Lost Boys from the original Peter Pan stories. I never found out who started it, but the group was really consistent. The group stayed about the same size, and the nicknames were always the same. When a Lost Boy was lost, either to death, orphanages or the system, then the next person to join the group would inherit their nickname. So when one of the Boys, Nibs was picked up by social workers and put in an orphanage, the next kid that we found, a six-year-old who was abandoned became the new Nibs. When one is lost, another becomes him, and in that way, the Lost Boys never really grew up."

Hermione was speechless. She had no idea that Harry had lived with homeless children in London. The idea of the Lost Boys was so strange. Why would they use nicknames rather than their real ones? A thought suddenly occurred to her… "What was your nickname Harry?"

His smile was wide as he replied, "Peter Pan."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"You're joking."

"Nope."

Hermione scoffed, "You were Peter Pan?"

"Yes. Three days before Tootles found me, the previous Peter Pan had been hit by a car. So when he found me, I became the new Peter." Harry had shifted in the chair and was now sitting with his legs crossed in front of him on the seat of the chair facing her. "The Lost Boys grouped together to protect each other. As I had already experienced, living on the streets was hard, so they worked together. There were only a few rules when living with the Lost Boys: Take what you need, share what you have, and look after each other. I felt more at home on the streets than I ever had at Privet Drive."

"But what happened? You went to Primary school, and you told us that you were still living with the Dursleys before Hogwarts. Why did you go back? When did you go back?" Hermione fired off several questions, without giving him time to answer. She couldn't believe that Harry had lived on the streets of London when he was five.

She internally rolled her eyes; _of course_ , he would be part of a gang. Harry's luck was just that bad. Peter Pan indeed. Harry was one of the most mature fifteen-year-olds that she had met. She had always gotten the impression that he had grown up way too fast, and never really had a childhood. It seemed so incongruous next to the idea of the fearless and reckless character from literature.

"After I ran away, the Dursleys looked for me. I was never sure why. Maybe they didn't want to look bad to the neighbors; maybe they were afraid that someone would notice that I was missing. Now that I think about it, they were probably terrified of any Wizards finding out. Nevertheless, they put up posters and notified the police that I had run away.

After three weeks, the news spread to London and someone recognized me and told the cops. I was picked up a few days later and brought back to Surrey.

I'm not sure who was angrier, Uncle Vernon or me. Almost as soon as the reporters and police pulled away, my Uncle turned on me. I was locked in my cupboard for days as a punishment for running away. But I was angry too. I had finally felt happy, for what seemed like the first time in my life. I didn't want to live with the Dursleys. I didn't want to be Harry Potter. I wanted to be Peter Pan. I wanted to go back to the streets of London, my own personal Neverland. I wanted to be free again. I escaped from the cupboard after about three days and tried to run away again.

Unfortunately, my Uncle was a bit more vigilant this time and spotted me running down the street. Needless to say, my punishment was unpleasant. But I didn't let that stop me, I finally knew freedom and I wasn't giving it up. I ran away four more times over the next month. Any chance I had, I took. I got as far as Egham the last time before they caught up with me. I had snuck onto a bus and pretended to be a woman's son. Unfortunately, she got off at a stop and when I didn't the driver called it in.

My Uncle was tired of dealing with it. That time I made him a deal. I promised I would come back for school because I had to. But the summers were mine, I would live on the streets."

Hermione was speechless. Had they let Harry live on the streets? There was no way any reasonable adult would have agreed to that! But, she realized, the Dursleys were hardly what anyone could call 'reasonable'.

"So…" she started hesitantly "what happened?"

Harry made an odd sound now, something between a sigh and a chuckle. "They agreed. They didn't want me around anyway. They told the neighbors that I was staying with my Aunt Marge during the summers so no one would ask any questions. On their next visit to London, they dropped me off in an alley and left."

She rolled her eyes. Of course, they did. She paused and considered her friend. Harry was now sitting up but not facing her directly. His gaze was on the wall behind her right shoulder, distant and unfocused. Harry was so rarely open like this. Usually getting a story from his childhood was almost impossible, but today he was uncharacteristically open. She was seeing him with new eyes. Never in her imaginings of his childhood had she considered that he had been homeless. Much less that he had chosen it! It made her sad and conflicted. She desperately wanted to pull her friend into a hug, while simultaneously screaming at him for being reckless! He could have been hurt! He could have been put in an orphanage or kidnapped or hit by a car or… her mind swirled with nightmare scenarios. Clearly nothing horrible had happened to her friend, he was sitting before her now, but still.

Harry's voice jolts her out of her thoughts. He didn't seem to realize that her mind had wandered. "I headed straight for our last home base. It was the basement of an old apartment building. One of the windows at the base of the building was just big enough for us to slip through. I found them again." Here he paused, his face turning into a wide smile. "They were shocked! Tootles and the others had thought I wasn't coming back. They hadn't found a replacement Peter yet. They welcomed me back with open arms. I told them a story about being kidnapped by a walrus and a horse and having to fight my way back to them."

Hermione giggles. She can see where he got the comparison. She can feel herself getting pulled into the story. It still seems impossible to her but she is starting to see something emerge in Harry's eyes, a light that had never been there before. Just for now he had let his anger and sadness go, thinking about this event from years ago. He seems younger, more animated. He has started moving his hands as he speaks, grinning and becoming more animated, scooting to the edge of his seat towards her. He has a slight tilt to his mouth that speaks to mischievousness and fun. She has seen it a few times before when he has plotted to embarrass Malfoy or when observing the twins. She is starting to see how he could have been Peter Pan.

Unbeknownst to the two teens in the Library, there are two men listening to this story as well. Both have horror and sadness painted across their features. Their cub was unloved and homeless! Why hadn't they known about this before?


	3. Chapter 3

Oops, forgot to add this in the first two chapters: Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters, locations and recognizable events belong to J.K. Rowling. I am just playing with her brainchild.

Chapter 3

"What happened next?" Hermione asks quietly.

"We lived, we ran, we played." Harry smiles again. "All of London was our Neverland and every day was an adventure. We explored every alley we could, scavenged and stole from the 'pirates'. I climbed nearly every building that had scaffolding and pretended to fly. We thought like children. We didn't think about grown-up things like death and homes. We only thought about the day, where to go, what to eat, where to sleep. We could go where we wanted, do what we wanted, be whoever we wanted and there were no grown-ups to tell us what to do. All of the Lost Boys looked out for each other. When we looked for food we always brought enough for the others. If someone pickpocketed something good, we all shared it or got something."

Here he paused and glanced at Hermione's face. She knew that he would see her disapproving frown. "Stealing is wrong." It comes out automatically before she can edit it. She almost expects him to get defensive or stop but instead, he tilts his head back and laughs. A proper laugh that shakes his whole body.

"How did I know you were going to say that?" He grins at her. "Yeah stealing was wrong and I knew that. But when it comes to stealing or starving, most people get flexible." His voice becomes more serious. "Living on the streets wasn't all fun and games. We still needed to survive and it wasn't easy. That first summer I saw Slightly get taken by a man. We never saw him again. Another boy, Cubby got sick. We didn't have any medicine and couldn't help him. He went to sleep and never woke up." He frowns and leans forward. His hands are clasped in front of him, almost like he was praying. "I learned more about the world in those summers than most kids ever do. We lost each other, but we always found another. There is no shortage of lost children in a big city."

Hermione feels a chill run down her back. He had gone quiet again. Wanting to pull him from his dark thoughts she asks another question. "Wasn't it strange, having a different name? Using the name of a friend on a stranger?"

"No." This time his pause is long. "For me it was easy. Most of my life up to that point no one had used my name. The Dursleys called me 'Boy' or 'Freak'. Before starting school, I thought it was my name. Only my teachers had called me Harry. Getting a new name was refreshing. It was untainted by my family. I could pretend to be someone new. I didn't have to be Harry Potter, the boy whose family died in a car crash, the boy who was unloved. I could be Peter Pan, the boy from anywhere with any history I chose." He smiles again, a small sad one. "That was one of our games. When we told our story, we would change it. Sometimes I was a boy who ran away, or whose family died in a fire. Sometimes I was abandoned on the side of the road, or the lost prince of England that had been kidnapped and escaped. It changed so often that I could almost forget my real story."

"Why would you do that?" Hermione asked. Her voice felt choked.

"It made the truth hurt a little less. It felt just like another story. I could tell it like I did any other and the next week change it. I didn't have to let it define me. You have to remember, I didn't know the real story about my parents. I didn't even know their names. All I knew was what my Aunt had told me. My parents had been unemployed drunks that died in a car crash. I had been forced on my Aunt and Uncle who didn't want me around. I didn't want that to be my story. I wanted what any kid wanted: to have hope for my family to come back. I always hoped for a mysterious family member to come discover me and take me to a real home. Pretending to be someone else made it easier."

Hermione thinks about her friend's response. She has learned more about her friend in the last hour than she had in five years of knowing him. A bubble of rage for his 'family' rises in her chest. How dare they? How could they do this to him? She can only imagine how much he had hurt thinking that of his parents.

It also explains a lot about him. Harry has always been independent to the point of foolishness. He rarely trusted adults (pirates her mind whispers) and almost never asked for help. He was also very keen on adventures, diving in headfirst to situations that should have made him pause. His delight with flying is also ironic. She doesn't doubt her friend's words, if anything she can picture him now: a small dirty-faced child running through the streets, climbing buildings, doing the impossible with a smirk on his face and laughter on the wind.

"You didn't answer the other question. Wasn't it odd to call a new Lost Boy with the same name? That would be like calling a stranger a friend!" She was truly confused (and more than a little horrified) by his story about 'replacing' the lost boys. She couldn't imagine knowing someone, playing with them, living with them, and then losing them. And then on top of that give their name to another?

"It was strange at first. I had a hard time with the first few. When Slightly disappeared, we found a little girl a few days later. The others immediately welcomed her and called her Slightly. It was a while before I could. By the second year, we had lost another. I got used to it. In a way, it helped us cope with the horrors of living on the streets. By renaming, we could keep someone alive, even if they weren't the same. As I said, in a way the Lost Boys never died."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"So what about your deal?" Hermione questioned. "You said you went back for school."

"Yeah. When I made the deal they told me the date that they would come pick me up. We used the same alley that they dropped me off at. I used the newspaper stands to tell the date. Before I left I told the Lost Boys that I was leaving Neverland to find Wendy Darling who would tell me stories. I promised them I would come back and tell them. I returned each year to school. I did my best to learn as many stories as I could as I learned to read. I told them to myself every night in my cupboard. Each summer when I came back I would share them with the boys." He hesitated before continuing. "Sometimes I would come back and only recognize a few faces. Winters were the hardest for the Lost Boys. The first summer I came back and Tootles was different. I remember crying. Tootles was the one who found me. I was sad that I wasn't there for him."

Hermione sensed that the story was nearing its end. Obviously, it had to. Harry had received his Hogwarts letter the year that he turned eleven. He had been introduced to the world of magic. And as far as she knew, Harry had not run away to live on the streets of London during the summer. Except for the third year, but he had stayed in Leaky Cauldron. So what had happened? How had it ended? She voices her thoughts to Harry.

He slumps back into his chair. He had been perched on the edge of the seat, so now he is almost laying flat, save for his shoulders and head which are crammed against the back of the armchair. "I knew that change was coming. I was the oldest Lost Boy and I knew that I was getting too old. I was starting to grow up. I was supposed to go to Stonewall High that next year. When I went home that time I told the Lost Boys that I wouldn't be coming back. I was being forced to grow up but that they would find a new Peter. I told all of them to retell the stories, to never let them die." His eyes are starting to shine with tears now. "That was the last time that I saw them. But you know the rest. I went to Hogwarts, I never went back to London as a Lost Boy. I grew up." They both grow quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

I was right, Hermione thought to herself. Nostalgia. He was remembering a fond memory of something lost. "You found us though." She says. Her voice is soft and quiet, and much to her chagrin sounds needy. Does he wish that things had been different? At her words, Harry's eyes snap to her face. For the first time in nearly an hour, his full focus is on her. He studies her face for a moment and then shoots out of his chair and approaches the couch where she is sitting. He sits next to her and wraps her in a hug.

"I did," he responds. "I found new friends, new adventures and new 'pirates' to fight." She can feel him grin as he says pirates. "I learned about my true history, the good and the scary. Sometimes it feels like a story that I made up, impossible and unreal, but I wouldn't give it up for the world." He pulls back to look at her. "Sometimes I miss it though. It was so simple. No worries or fears, just living day to day, never worrying about the future. Now…" His voice breaks with a sob, "Everything is so complicated, Voldemort and Cedric, the Ministry and…" he stops again, pulling in a shuddering breath. "I wish I could get that fearlessness back, to feel invincible. To be Peter Pan, the eternal child again."

This time it is Hermione who initiates the hug. They sit like this, in silence for several minutes.

"Your life is like a story." She finally says. Harry snorts out a laugh and pulls away. "We should do something for them!" Hermione suddenly shouts. Homeless children in London? Her mind begins spinning plans for how to help them. Contact the orphanages? Build an orphanage? Get them in foster homes? Knit them clothes?

"Hermione, Hermione, whoa slow down." She stops suddenly as Harry's voice breaks through. What does he mean? "Hermione, for one, helping only a few kids isn't going to help solve the problem. 1 in 100 kids is homeless in Great Britain. If you were to help 10, they would be replaced by 50 more." She pauses to consider his words. Was that true, were there so many kids without homes? Being from an affluent family meant that she had had very little interaction with the disadvantaged. It made her feel stuck. A problem that she couldn't solve on her own? Frustration began niggling at the back of her mind. She knew that this was going to stay with her; mentally she started considering how to tackle the bigger issue.

Harry's voice breaks through her contemplations again, "Additionally, doing that would destroy the legacy of the lost boys. To live truly free as they do means being lost. It doesn't seem right or fair from a grown-up's perspective, we want to help them, I do too but… The simple fact is, they don't want to be helped; they want to be kids forever. To the boys, being put in the system or an orphanage was like death. They lost their freedom, and in some cases their safety. The system is imperfect and doesn't help kids as often as it claims to." Hermione opens her mouth to argue but stops at Harry's expression. "I know that it feels weird, but in this case, let it go. You can tackle homelessness on a different day, maybe after we get through this war. For now let's just focus on Today."

A smirk tugs at the edge of Harry's lips, he jumps up suddenly. He extends a hand to her. "Well Wendy, feel like an adventure? I think the twins are working on a way to spy on the 'pirates'. Want to go help?" She stares at him for a second, stunned at the change in his demeanor. He almost looks like a different boy. Smiling, mischievous, and daring. She reaches out for his hand

"Sure Peter Pan."


End file.
